Thursday, December 30, 2010

She glared at her graduation photos. Those fake smiles stabbed her heart.

"Their daughter's a pharmacist. What can you expect of them? What is yourdaughter?Your daughter's only a teacher."

These words hurt her.

"Anyone knows that you don't peel off its paper first. Even I know without reading a recipe...," although said, each words seemed to carve into her. "Does everyone really know?" her heart insulted and doubted hurtfully. Her discontent pulled off from her face.

Just as expected, her freedom of expression enraged the other. "If you're so unhappy, GO! I don't need your help!" She was dismissed with a slam on the table.

She was indeed unhappy and hurt.

"Am I, abnormal?" she wondered, "... or just too normal?" She was disturbed.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

She walked, each pace faster than another, yet she had no idea where she was heading. To where, was merely buried in silent footsteps. And, her feet obediently followed.

Fifteen minutes later, from the name of a leader, she bore the name of a loser. One by one went ahead of her - first a girl, then a woman in her late fifties, then another and another. She quickened; her muscles actively respired.

She gasped for more air. Deeply she inhaled, but the amount of air that reached her lungs were minimal. Summoning strength, she sucked in more air. But, Ouch! She pulled a right hand to pamper her heart. A needle poked through it.

Her lungs cried for more air.

"I can't go on anymore," she stopped herself, still gasping and breathing.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Your dad loves you truly. He refuses to eat unless he is rest-assured that you are still around. He questions your daughter like she buries you alive. Your absence are telecast as days of famine. Though he had full-course meals, he reasons that they have starved. He starves himself and his wife when he knows you will return. Just so, he can complains about your wife.

He told you to stop, if works were too much for you. Stay at home, is what he wants of you. What's better than TV, computer and air-con? He even secretly slips you big notes when you need some.

Your mum loves you madly. She wants to follow wherever you go, except like a chick after her hen. Like two inseparable sweethearts, she clings on to you. She can't stand to see you as a man and wife. A stool she will to stand in the way. She even coughs for your attention.

She was once alert, yet you said she was old and forgetful. Then, she pretends all she was. She doesn't recognize your daughter, not in front of you or anyone else, but she can call her by name when there's no one around. All these have become a routine for her, even if she becomes old, and forgetful.

And your daughter, she loves you deeply. To you, only a disrespectful grand-daughter she is.

Sunday, December 26, 2010

She looked at the pictures. Pictures bore of great people and great places, luxuriously drawn her heart green. "How beautiful!" she silently admitted. Life which she had secluded herself from, a life she erased to put an end to the grumblings of uneven proportions - without share, there needed no compare.

Four nights had turned into forty days. Days into months, months into year. "What's my purpose?" she thought. "You gave me ministries i let down. What use of me?"

Luke 19:26 stated, "... everyone who has, more will be given, but as for the one who has nothing, even what he has will be taken away."

"You must have taken away...," she shed a tear.

Life without a purpose, she realized, was an emptiness, a vain conceit of self-achievement.

Friday, December 24, 2010

24th December on one dark, cold night. The rain poured outside, tumbling and rumbling, shaking off the roof. The clock ticked off, seconds into minutes, minutes into hours. It was near midnight. "Return," they prayed, "please..."

"Where is she?!" Their short-lived prayers were interrupted.

"Doesn't she had a family?!!" He was loud and rude.

The sturdy figure slammed the door with his fist. Unsecured and anxious, his thought clouded him with anger and rage. His protective instinct prepared him for a hunt. Equipped with parang, he sped to battle ground. To him, it was no man's shame nor fear. He was on the set to kill. His motives were raised with surmounting confusion.

Having only each other to cry to, the children clad themselves to sleep.

Four close friends once heard grim melodies a distance away from the field. They abandoned their ball and followed trail. Under the banana tree was a man and a woman. The woman was in whites, hair long and black. The unforeseeable countenance of the woman squirmed their guts. Their heart raced and the melodies hair-raising. They darted off.

Countless stories continue to unravel, each twisted by tongues. Only the heart knew best, whether truth or lie.

What made of two teenagers with raging hormones was turned into a ghost story.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

She stomped in, angry as always. No one made a word, but moved in each own's directions. Their joy was cut short, having to start a donkey's life now. She frowned, and scanned their duty roster. Then, in dissatisfaction, she pursed her lips to mouthful critics which unfortunately dropped unto deaf ears. They were prepared, clogging their eardrums from deafening frequencies. To them, she was a boss,of nobody, who scrutinized every small details as if looking for anything, just something to complain. She was being totally unreasonable! She opened her eyes in disbelief.

Then, one stood out. Out of the nine working bees, one boldly stood out. Purposefully, he swung his broom carefully in front of her, which navigated her gaze into his direction. Head still low, softly he hummed, and slowly sang the words as clear as ever:

Saturday, December 18, 2010

She reclined to herself. "It's Christmas. Be happy and smile." She wiped away tears, which wet her eyes unceasingly. "Courage; take courage." She breathed deep, inhaling the fragrance of mixed odor and perfumes into her lungs. Her red eyes now glued to the door.

Welling up courage, she opened, walked to the sink and washed her tears away. She looked up the mirror; her face drenched. "He was denied, rejected and abandoned." "Father...," she cried softly.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

A note to their dear teacher - a note written from the heart. Just a distance away, she smiled and said, "Look what you've got! Hard work seems to pay off." And her smile trailed off and slowly melted away, slowly, carefully, and secretly.

She was envious of their little gifts for her. Little gifts of appreciation that put a spark on every teacher's face. Her empty hands made her heart grow cold. She shivered. How could she tell a friend how she feels? She was obviously jealous. None of them knew. None of her students even noticed. Her absence-to-be was a learned joy. A celebration for a better one would come.

"Argh, let's have a break."

"You've finished the whole book, what do you want the other teacher to teach?"

Yet in another class... was unusually solemn. Not because of her last day, they just wanted to get over with it. "Ah~, pull off your last stunt quick and leave us (alone)," she could almost hear them even in the silence. No sign of sad departures. Not even thank you. She wasn't quite their 'good' teacher, not even the least of a kind. Then time came; the last class ended.

Settling down on her chair in the staffroom, a dark negro boy came to her, a boy none of her class bore his name.

"Sorry, didn't know that it was your last day. This one's for you."

He secretly passed a piece of folded paper to her and left.

She retreated to the class, putting up little stuffs to cheer up the room. Then, came the boys one by one, making a small circle in the room. All too shy, and finally one of them bore courage and said thank you. Then, another, and another, and another. She wasn't sure if they were genuine. She was. She wanted to let them know. It was inexpressible.

It soon ended with shy good-byes. What disappointing sight. She wanted to cry. But they left. She retreated the folded paper. It read: Hope to see you again?

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

I remember the time I was still a baby. You would cuddle me up in your arms and sing me a lullaby. I couldn't remember we had to walk miles from home to anywhere; I only remember you sang us Little Ducklings. I couldn't remember we had to turn off the lights at night; you would read us stories. Sister was your Little Princess, I was your Little Cinderella.

You had never canned me, I realized. I could still remember how Sister was running like a wild goose. Except that one time when I refused to brush my teeth, you threw your boots at me. My arms were bruised. I still wonder what enraged you.

Life was tough when the family owned a few more cars. You smoked, you drank and you gambled. I almost believed that life was a gamble. Those 'unowned money' could possibly be in my wallet the next day... only if, I was willing to place my bet. Those were lies you still believe in.

I prayed hard, hoping you would change. You stopped smoking. And, you started to keep your hair short, like a real father. You started to go to church. Yet, there were still plenty of things unchanged. You were a hypocrite, complaining about my mum, about my sister, about my brother. I prayed for a bigger change.

I love you, Dad. But I find it harder and harder to talk to you everyday. I love you, Dad. But I was so angry... so angry that you couldn't keep the family at your hands. You refused to work. You spent your day on unfruitful online games. And, you complained about my mum. But you were a hypocrite.